Tongue tied: Deprived of speech or the power of distinct articulation
Source: Merriam-Webster (Online Version. May I direct your attention to the word exhausted... my normal preference is for the yellowing desktop version, too exhausted to go into my office to retrieve the book)
Two consecutive weeks of high intensity has left me shell shocked and tongue tied. Last week began with a funeral and by Friday the Rebel Tweeps and BitchBloggers were completely engaged in the Twit Storm. When I first got involved in blogging and then ventured into twitter, I got quite a lesson in The Pink Stink. I suspected there were many more irate women in the closet. When Komen fired the shot heard round the world, the chatter gained momentum and very quickly turned into a chain swinging lynch mob.
Throw in a Super Bowl. A great game. Especially if you live in these parts and Monday was off to a great start. Coming off a weekend high. And in an instant, the rug was pulled out from under me when I saw RIP. And thus began this week. Monday. First Rachel, hours later, Susan. Lives cut short because we don't really fund research for the breast cancer that actually KILLS women. No money for that.
Another woman died on Monday, too. Bet you didn't know that. And she SHOULD have been very famous. She was more accomplished than these celeb types we toss up on those pedestals. She was not part of the social media crowd but she was connected in that Kevin Bacon kind of degrees of separation thing. She was an astronaut. One of the few women to don a space suit, Janice Voss spent 49 days in space and was on five shuttle missions. She was 55. She died of breast cancer.
I'm no rocket scientist and as many might recall, I'm not a big fan of statistics, either. In this case, however, maybe someone at NASA can do a calculation and let me know what the odds would be that TWO NASA women would die of breast cancer on the same day. NASA is not exactly filled with women. An astronaut and an astrophysicist. I'm going with, five of us each had a better chance of hitting some mega lottery.....
I'm being a bit of a smart ass because this should not have happened. Period. I'm listening to sound bites ad nauseum about the "billions of dollars" provided to fund research and I'd like to know exactly what was being researched and by whom? I'm feeling like it was that e-Trade baby in a lab coat searching for clinical trials using an app and an iPad. I'm pissed off that I will never see another comment from Rachel or have Susan's compassion reaching out to touch me in a moment of fear.
I also have those back stories I mention every so often. They are reaching a level ONCE again where I'm beginning to feel as if someone is trying to push me down and keep me down. Shit can keep coming at me from every direction. I can deal with all of it. If I stared down cancer and I learned to live with that, there will no backing down. Suffice to say I have a spouse and kids. Make whatever backstory you want using that tidbit of info. Guarantee you won't even come remotely close.
Clearly, I've moved to the anger phase in the grief process. There will be no acceptance unless and until we have dispensed with breast cancer. I don't want to become one of those old cranky bitches so I'm really pushing this agenda. Hell, I want to be Betty White...... wise-cracking, making sexual innuendos and always laughing.......
I'm counting on continued wise cracks in my twitter stream that make me laugh despite the sadness. No one would have enjoyed this more than Rachel.... I believe this is what we call Snark With an EDGE (and there goes that GaGa thing again).... I'm being a Fearless Friend and on this Friday, I leave you with some rantings to laugh about. I'm working on appropriately pointed and wise ass-ish replies to a bunch of stuff..... When I'm less shell shocked and I can untie my tongue.
And some of the laughing will be through tears, but it's time to start incorporating a little laughter back into my life. Along with a few other distractions....... I'm feeling Girl's Night Out or An Overnight In Manhattan. If I can't climb out of this funk, you will find me on a balcony in New Orleans in little more than a week doing something with beads......Inappropriate at my age, but with the plastic surgeon's handiwork, I may just pull it off.